


they name dragons

by Zekkass



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bruce Has Issues, Destruction, Fantasy, Guilt, M/M, On the Run, Presumed Dead, Tony Has Issues, Trust, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce has always known that alchemy is an unstable science.</p>
            </blockquote>





	they name dragons

**Author's Note:**

> Written first and foremost because of legete, who got me started on this whole Fantasy AU plot and kept me going through the worst of it. (And she also beta-read it _and_ wrote in a few sections, thank you!) This started as a fill for 'sharing a bed' at trope_bingo over at dreamwidth, but in the end I'm using it as the free space due to where it's gone.
> 
> Enjoy!

Tony finds him in the rubble, gives him a cloak and doesn't give him time to catch his breath and find his bearings. They're stumbling over broken bricks as Bruce tries to remember what happened, as he tries to breathe through the dust and smoke, as the realization that _he_ caused the destruction he's wading through hits him - and Tony catches him when he stumbles and falls.

Tony's there when all he can do is try to think through the haze of exhaustion.

Tony's there to tie him to a saddle so he can get them out of the city without Bruce falling off his horse, and when Bruce twists to look back at the Capital once they're clear of the gates, all he can see is smoke rising in the dawn light.

_I did that_ , he thinks, and promptly leans over his horse to vomit.

\--

"When are you leaving for the Capital?"

"Huh?" Tony looks up from his breakfast, still chasing grits around a bowl, and for a moment Bruce can think only of home, of Tony eating a peasant's meal of barley soup without complaint after too many hours awake helping Bruce figure out things called nerves, take breaks only for coarse dark bread while watching him create electricity from copper and zinc.

Bruce pushes his bowl away, empty only through force of will, and repeats his question.

"I'm not," Tony says, and reaches for the water. "I'm traveling with you."

"I can't go back there," Bruce says, reaching to catch Tony's wrist. "You need to go back."

Tony doesn't meet his eyes, switching the water to his other hand before drinking it.

Bruce doesn't let go. "The kingdom thinks you're dead," he says, tone hushed, afraid that Tony will confirm what he's been thinking since he overheard gossip about the latest news in the kingdom; surprise surprise, it's not all about him.

"I'm not attending my own funeral," Tony says in a flat tone, eyes still averted, but Bruce doesn't let go.

"You're the Prince," he says, tone still hushed, a low hiss.

"Stane'll take care of the kingdom just fine without me," Tony says, and Bruce feels sick to his stomach for yet another reason in as many days. "Bruce - "

"I know," Bruce says, letting go abruptly, taking deep breaths. Calm. It's become his watchword. He's not sure if he can turn into a monster again, but anything that might trigger it - emotions, food, _anything_ \- he has to be careful. For Tony's sake, if nothing else.

"Hey," Tony says, snapping his fingers in front of Bruce's nose. "Hey. Safe distance, some empty field or something. We'll find out what makes it happen, find a way to keep it from happening. Promise."

Bruce can only nod and accede to his Prince's wishes.

\--

The kingdom mourns the death of the last of the Stark line, long live the Starks.

The kingdom's armies hunt for the monster who turns into a man, the Regent sanctioning this manhunt in the name of the kingdom's safety. If a few are falsely accused and executed, who dares to condemn the army in this perilous time? No one, not if they know how much of the Capital was ruined in a single night.

The Prince leaves behind his former identity and flees for the border, a monster his only companion.

And on his golden throne the Regent Stane finds the taste of power to his liking.

\--

"News travels faster than we do," Tony says as he mounts his horse. "C'mon, Bruce. They're not risking guests from the Capital tonight."

Just because it makes sense doesn't make it sting any less, but Bruce swallows any comment and nods, following Tony as they take back to the road.

\--

Quiet conversation in a field at night, as they lie under the stars and hope it doesn't rain:

"Do you remember it at all?"

"No."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"That's right."

"Bruce, I was thinking - " The sound of grass rustling, and they both hold their breaths for long minutes as nothing happens. Probably a rabbit. Tony exhales with a soft laugh and goes on. "I think you outdid what Ross wanted. Give that stuff to the whole army - "

Bruce exhales and sits up.

"Too soon, huh?"

Bruce doesn't bother answering.

"Sorry," says Tony who rarely apologizes. "Lie back down. You have no idea how expensive these beds were."

Bruce looks at Tony in the dark, tries to make out the shape of his face in the dark; fails.

If he's lost everything so has Tony, and while he won't try to compare - he refuses to let himself start down that path - he must stop to recognize how much Tony must be keeping from him.

Bruce thinks of Stane and the first time he shook hands with him; he’d almost expected Stane’s palms to be greasy; something about the man made him uncomfortable. He'd chalked it up to the uneasy air he felt around him, and he remembers how little affection he'd seen Tony show the man who presented himself as a trusted uncle, and he remembers deciding early on not to get involved unless he was forced to.

It's always been wiser not to get involved with the affairs of kings, and kings-to-be.

But, he has to wonder, what do you do when one involves himself with you? As he lies back down, still unable to make out Tony's face, he has to entertain the unpleasant thought that perhaps Tony is only traveling with him out of some idea that it's convenient. Perhaps Tony will vanish one night, and he'll be on his own.

He can't say the thought disturbs him too much. It would be safer for them both if Tony left.

"What are you thinking about?" Tony asks, suddenly.

"You," he answers honestly.

It isn't long before Tony digs for details. It's his insatiable curiosity that Bruce admires at times, and fears at others.

"What about me?"

"When are you leaving?" Bruce asks, closing his eyes.

"I'm not."

Stubborn. "I'm dangerous."

"We don't know that yet."

"This is an empty field." It's a low murmur, not quite a threat.

"You can't talk me into leaving, Bruce. I want to travel with you. It's better than traveling alone."

"Not by much," Bruce tries to point out. "I'm a wanted man." Even leaving aside the fact that he's inherently dangerous (he doesn't know yet for sure, but he feels it in his bones: the monster is not gone) he'll be expected to answer for the leveled homes, the destroyed shops, the injured and the - the dead.

"And I'm a dead one. It evens out."

"How are you so flippant?" Bruce has to ask. Almost demand.

"I trust you," Tony says, as if it's that simple. "Get some sleep, Bruce."

Bruce looks at Tony in the dark and wonders when he's going to regret not walking away now.

\--

Instead of the expected morning sounds - the bird calls, the sounds of Tony picking through their supplies, the horses whickering to each other - instead Bruce wakes up to the sound of too many boots in the grass and the sounds of swords being unsheathed.

He opens his eyes, everything still gray in the pre-dawn light, and carefully reaches for his spectacles, sliding them on - the intruders, whoever they are, aren't paying attention to him.

There are three of them, two with swords drawn, and they're standing over Tony, who's still peacefully asleep. They nod to each other, and both raise their swords, and in one smooth motion -

"Don't!" Bruce jerks up as the blades come down, and only one halts.

It's the sight of the tip of a sword piercing Tony that does it.

He has been so careful since the Capital, he has been careful every step of the way not to feel anything too strongly, to keep himself from doing anything - _anything_ \- that might trigger the monster within him, and here - here and now he loses it in a span of seconds.

There's red in his vision and a pounding in his ears and when he lunges to put his fist through the man who killed his friend it is green.

\--

Bruce wakes up grieving and alone, too tired to be angry at circumstances, but unable to simply lie back and let himself sleep; he needs to see Tony, alive or dead. He needs that closure.

It is a long walk, and he is so tired. Twice he stumbles and has to haul himself back up to his feet, and he is keenly aware that his clothing is gone.

It's still early morning, and a cloudy one at that -

He finds Tony -

In Tony's hands are pieces of a -

Tony _refuses to die._

Bruce almost falls to his knees in sheer relief, but manages to instead go onwards, towards Tony, to where the injured Prince is working on creating something - Bruce can't tell what it is yet - with blood on his hands. The blood is Tony's, and Bruce slows as he sees the mess that is Tony's uncovered chest.

"Bruce?" Tony says without looking up. "Need your hands over here. We don't have much time before I keel over, so do exactly as I say and _trust me_ , I know what I'm doing."

Bruce doesn't hesitate, and he doesn't ask questions. He helps cut into Tony's chest and he helps him put metal in it, and he bandages up the aftermath, and he finally pulls on pants as Tony rests after the surgery, eyes closed but his mouth open.

"I can answer questions now," Tony says, and he is too pale for Bruce's comfort.

Bruce says nothing as he pulls a shirt on as well. He's too tired for questions, frankly, and it's more important that Tony won't die in the next few minutes.

He sees Tony crack an eye open and peer at him, and he looks away.

"Come on," Tony coaxes. "You don't want to know what we just did?"

"I'm going to find out," Bruce says, and he begins to put their stuff away into their packs, tucking Tony's mechanical supplies into a neat bundle.

The exhaustion is beginning to wear at him, his body protesting every move as he methodically prepares them for travel. He needs to lie down. He needs to shut down and sleep for the next day - and he fights it, he resists that, for so many reasons.

They need to move. The - the monster inside of him must have attracted attention, and if anyone was following them - point of fact: they need to go somewhere else before they both collapse and sleep for a day.

He takes a moment to breathe in an effort to stay calm. The important reason, the one he can feel himself tip-toeing around - if he's too tired he can't lose control and change. He's too tired to be angry right now - right? He hasn't had an opportunity to test it, and he doesn't want to, but - but -

"Bruce?"

"Can you ride?"

"Bruce, _what._ "

"Can you ride? We need to get out of here."

Bruce turns to look at him, to try and gauge if Tony can ride at all, and it finally reaches him through his tired haze that no, no. Tony cannot ride. He is pale and the bandages are not enough to muffle the ticking of the machine they fit into him, and he still doesn't know what it does, and he should have known better.

He's too tired to do anything, let alone anything rationally, and Tony is too injured to move.

"What's another day in this field?" Tony asks, and Bruce runs a hand through his hair. "No nearby villages, right?"

"We're too close to the road," Bruce says, which is true. "I have to move you."

"Or you can put a blanket over me and get some sleep," Tony says, but all Bruce can focus on is how weak his voice sounds.

"You should sleep first," Bruce says, giving up the idea of moving in part because of the rational arguments but also because of how tired and sore he is, and how he wavers at the thought of dragging not just himself but also Tony anywhere.

He begins to unpack one bag, and doesn't look at Tony as he pulls out a blanket from his pack.

"You first," he repeats.

"...Thanks, Bruce," Tony murmurs, voice a pale shadow of itself. He sounds as defeated as Bruce feels, which is odd enough for Bruce to finally look at him, finally wake up enough to _look_ at him.

"How long until that stops working?" he asks, and it's the first intelligent question he's asked all day.

Tony blanches, which tells Bruce all he needs to know. He covers Tony with the blanket, makes sure he's comfortable, doesn't say a word.

Tony's the one to speak up.

"We've got a week. Maybe two. The mechanics won't last longer than that, and I don't have a replacement - and I can't build a hand-crank into this. Sorry." The grin is watery. "When it fails - " he snaps his fingers, the sound feeling wrong to Bruce's ears here and now - "that's it for my heart."

"Go to sleep," Bruce tells him, too tired to think about what he'll do when they run out of time.

"Sorry."

Bruce just sits in the grass near him.

"This wasn't how I wanted it to go," Tony says, and Bruce knows that sentiment way too well, _lives_ that sentiment now - he reaches out, touches Tony's arm. "We were supposed to get out of the country, find some - "

"Stop," Bruce says. He is so tired. "Stop, Tony." He leans forward, grips Tony's arm.

"It hurts," Tony says, and he doesn't mean Bruce's grip. "Bruce - "

"Go to sleep," Bruce doesn't know what he looks like as he covers Tony's mouth. "Sleep."

Tony says something against Bruce's hand, and he looks so vulnerable, so much in pain that Bruce just wants to take the machine out of him and take the pain with it and he wants to keep Tony close so that no one can hurt him, not again - and something gives in Tony's expression, something that lets him sag and close his eyes.

Bruce waits a minute, then pulls his hand back and he rubs his face. He is so tired.

"Get some sleep," Tony whispers, eyes still closed when Bruce looks. "We're both useless right now."

"Maybe," Bruce says, but he does go for his bedroll. He does pull it over next to Tony's. He does climb into it and pray that nothing will happen. That they'll both catch a break for once.

Then and only then does he let himself go.

\--

"Now I really am a dead man walking," Tony says a day later, and Bruce seizes the urge to shove Tony off the horse and strangles it.

\--

"Hulk."

"What?"

"Weren't you listening? They've named your alter-ego."

"I try not to listen, Tony."

"Why?"

Bruce opens his mouth to answer and can't.

"You should," Tony goes on. "Hulk. I like it."

Bruce brings his horse up short.

Tony glances back at him and brings his horse around. "What is it?"

"We are out here because of that monster. You're injured," (he doesn't say dying,) "because we're out here. There's no telling how many are dead because of it, or how many homes it destroyed. And you _like_ it?"

"The Hulk," Tony says, knowing full well what he's doing, "looked at me. He came back when those assassins were dead and he looked at me. He could have stepped on me, used me as a ragdoll, anything. Instead he growled at me and left."

"That doesn't mean you like _it_ ," Bruce says, emphasis deliberate. "That doesn't mean you name it."

"Even dragons have names," Tony says, and grimaces at whatever expression Bruce must be wearing. "I'm not saying the destruction's a good thing, Bruce. I'm saying - "

"That you like it."

"...Yes."

Bruce pointedly lowers his gaze to Tony's chest before riding ahead. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he -

"Bruce, stop!" Tony calls, and it's not long before he's up next to him again. "Bruce, slow down. We need to talk this out."

"I can't stop you," Bruce says, doing his absolute best to remain neutral. He can't go for calm, not when he can tell that Tony's almost bursting to tell him about the - the Hulk in detail, and all the hows and whys of _liking_ the thing.

"Actually you can," Tony starts, but Bruce doesn't stop his bark of laughter in time. "What?"

"You're still the Prince," Bruce says, and before Tony can say anything he goes on. " _And_ I know you. I can't stop you from doing anything you're going to insist on. It's just how you are, Tony."

"The Prince thing shouldn't mean anything," Tony says, and that's good. That's territory Bruce can talk about without wanting to ride away from him.

That, and he has questions about it. After all: Tony had said assassins.

"It mattered enough to someone to send assassins after you," Bruce says. "Someone who knows you're not dead." He can guess who, but he'd rather not say the name. There's something unreadable in Tony's expression now, and he goes on. "Are we going to run into any more of them, Tony?"

Tony says nothing. Bruce thought so.

"I don't want to wake up to see you under attack again," Bruce says, quieter.

"We can try sleeping in shifts," Tony says, and Bruce just looks at him. "Anyways, we're getting off-topic. Have we figured out what triggers the Hulk now?"

"Anger," Bruce says simply. "It's anger, Tony."

"Is that supposed to be a warning?"

"No," Bruce says, and now he can let himself smile, but only a little. "It has to be pretty strong."

"Got it. So I can irritate you - "

"It's not a good idea," Bruce cuts in. "Tony, don't test it, don't antagonize me, don't try to pull the Hulk out - " He stops. He takes a deep breath. "Don't cause an incident. It may not walk away from you next time."

This is not what he wants to say. Tony will not listen to him, and they both know it.

His eyes stray to Tony's chest once more, and he raises them to Tony's face, looks him dead on in the eye.

"Trigger the Hulk on purpose and we part ways. No exceptions."

Tony looks back at him, expression finally shifting into something serious, and he nods.

\--

They don't talk while on the move after that. Not unless they have to.

It's not out of any agreed upon silence or mutual disdain, but more that Bruce doesn't want to talk, not when he's finally begun to absorb what has happened to him. Tony - Tony's silence surprises him, but it's not until the third day that he begins to want to do anything more than watch him.

His nerves are still frayed, his temper is still a thing he has to fight: recognizing what triggers the - he can't escape the name, now - the Hulk has only given him an itch he cannot scratch.

Any irritation must be caught and dealt with. Any anger he feels must be pushed down and away before it spirals out of control. He wants to lash out at the slightest provocation, and - and - he exhales, hands tightening on the reins.

There's a flash of anger that he can't even think without needing to control himself. He breathes, focuses on that, centers himself. He is grateful that his horse will follow Tony's without prompting, because he has spent more time controlling himself than paying attention to the road since they left that field.

He is, for the first time, grateful that they will not reach their destination for another day.

His horse turns off the road unexpectedly, and he jerks his head up to see what has happened - and Tony is leading them off the road and into the woods. The sun is still overhead, and there is no path to follow.

He almost calls out to Tony before he thinks better of it and looks around. There is not a soul in sight, but he can't be sure that Tony hasn't heard anything - it isn't as if Bruce has had the presence of mind to be on the lookout for other travelers.

They ride for some minutes through the trees, then Tony stops and dismounts, walking back to Bruce's horse and looking up at him.

"I need your help again. This thing is acting up."

It's a bucket of cold water down Bruce's spine.

"What do you want me to do?" He dismounts and helps Tony remove his outer garments before carefully peeling back the bandages and exposing the mess in his chest. It's a shock to see it, no matter that he saw it this morning when they applied fresh bandages.

The crude metal circle in Tony's chest disguises complex inner workings, and beneath that, Tony's heart. The skin around it is still a mess, but the bleeding has finally stopped. It lacks the finesse and delicacy of the clockwork creations in Tony’s old atelier, but it’s sound enough. A self-winding device, activated by movement, causes friction on an amber rod, producing a faint spark. It’s not something Bruce would have conceived or implemented, and it’s a mere hodgepodge of materials that Tony managed to grab as he fled, but if it keeps Tony alive -

"What's wrong with it?" Bruce asks, undoing the pack that contains all of Tony's mechanical supplies.

"Besides how it needs a new power source and how I need to rebuild most of it with better materials and tools?" Tony shakes his head and reaches for a tool. "One of the moving parts jammed. Hold this - "

For the next four minutes Bruce acts as assistant and holds tools and pieces as Tony hands them to him, and at one point he lights a lantern and lifts it at just the right angle for Tony to see by. It's nerve-wracking to simply stand by while Tony roots around in his chest, but his specialties lie elsewhere and this is Tony's creation.

To be frank, Bruce still doesn't know exactly what it does to keep Tony alive.

"There," Tony murmurs, and he re-fastens the covering over the machine. "No need to panic, it'll hold out until we reach Drake's Mouth."

"I wasn't panicking," Bruce murmurs before he dims the lantern. "Tony - "

"No, no, you were panicking. You can admit it. And I'm fine."

"Tony," Bruce says, reaching out to take his arm. Tony's pale again, and running his mouth. _He_ was panicking, Bruce realizes. "You're going to be fine."

"Obviously," Tony says, but he doesn't meet his eyes. "We'll be able to find a power source, it's a port town, exotic traders have everything - "

"You're already trying to think of alternatives," Bruce says, not letting go. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

"Yeah, I - yeah."

Bruce repeats it, because Tony needs to hear it. "You're going to be fine."

He's surprised by how confident he sounds, how calm he sounds. He's surprised by how much he believes what he's saying.

"Yeah?" Tony finally looks at him. "Well - so are you. You're going to be fine."

Bruce can't help it: his lips twitch as they try for a smile. "That's not a comeback, Tony."

"Were we arguing? I don't think we were arguing."

"We're not arguing," Bruce says, and he lets go of Tony to fetch new bandages from their packs - they'll have to buy more supplies when they reach the city, he notes.

"Hey."

Bruce pauses and looks up. "What is it?"

"Thanks."

Bruce blinks. "You're welcome, Tony."

"I mean," Tony comes closer, finally touching Bruce's arm in return. "For everything. I thought we would have parted ways by now, what with the assassins - "

"You've got it backwards," Bruce says, and he begins to patch up Tony's chest with now-familiar movements. "I owe you a lot - I should have thanked you before now, for taking me with you."

"Anyone would have done the same in my position," Tony says, but he's missing the point by miles and miles. Bruce shakes his head.

"Let me thank you anyways," Bruce says, and he pats Tony's hand. "I'm glad we're traveling together." He'd be dead by now, or worse. More might be dead because of the Hulk. Tony might be dead. He won't list the reasons why he's glad Tony dragged him out from the rubble, and he doesn't need to.

Tony visibly hesitates, then finally nods and smiles. "Then you're welcome."

Bruce finishes bandaging his chest, and together they get back on the road.

\--

"I think we're owed some good luck by now - I don't care how we get it, I demand some fair treatment from the fates," says Tony, and Bruce wishes he had said this hours ago, when he was calmer.

As it is: it's a sentiment Bruce can fall behind, but he speaks up all the same, unable to keep himself from engaging Tony. "Don't tempt them, Tony. We'll get mugged in a minute."

"That wouldn't be fair, Bruce."

"The world isn't fair, and asking it to be is just another way to ask for bad luck."

"If we get mugged we'll be fine. After all, we can just throw - " And here Tony shuts up, which is a surprise. No one has jumped out of the bushes, and Bruce can't see any problems from his vantage point.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, nothing, forget it."

Bruce almost lets it go, almost succeeds in divorcing himself from the curiosity at how Tony looks away from him, guilt on his face. He almost keeps himself from asking the question; but his skin is itchy and he's overly aware of how he's slowly winding back up.

All of the goodwill Tony gained from him earlier, the respite when worry outweighed everything else - gone, after minutes and hours of watching Tony from behind and getting annoyed at the slightest motion, the slightest detail - Bruce knows it's not rational, but anger never is, and he's discovering that it's harder and harder to let go now, when it matters.

"Tell me!" Too loud, too angry - there's an edge to his voice that he knows Tony must hear. He - for a vicious moment - hopes that Tony tries to provoke him. He hunches over his horse, struggling to control himself.

If he can't control his anger over a matter so _trivial_ , then he - he -

There's suddenly water in his face, in his hair, on his spectacles - he opens and closes his mouth and blinks, and just like that he's in control again.

Tony gives him a wry grin and lowers the water skin. "We're this close to the port, Bruce. Now's a bad time for a temper tantrum."

"I...yeah, thanks," Bruce says, reaching to rub the back of his neck. All of the anger's gone, just like that, and he's not sure how to feel about that.

"Wasn't sure that'd work," Tony says, and shrugs. "Hey, while you're calm - here's a friendly reminder that we're just a pair of nobodies trying to pick up some supplies and ditch this kingdom. Any complaints, comments...?"

"Keep that injury covered," Bruce says, serious.

"Obviously, Bruce. Anything else?"

"If I get angry like that again, splash me and run. Don't wait to see if it works."

"Got it."

\--

The trees thin out, clear away into farmland clustered around the river, and Bruce begins to see the city walls in the distance.

Port city Drake's Mouth, center of trade, travel and hopefully home to a merchant who'll have all the supplies Tony will need to double his lifespan or more - and hopefully he'll have them available at a discount.

Tony's right, Bruce thinks. They are owed some good luck.

He hopes they get it, because - he glances across to where Tony's focused on the city, hands tight on the reins - too tight, but Bruce isn't going to tell him to loosen up - because Tony doesn't have many chances left, and he doesn't want him dead.

_Let nothing go wrong,_ he thinks, watching the city get closer and closer.

\--

Bruce loiters outside the small shop as Tony makes purchases within, and he studies the people as he waits. It's not strictly due to his duty to protect Tony, but it's not strictly people-watching, either.

The mood of the city, he thinks, is tense at best.

If he's spun up and liable to jump at the slightest tap, the city is already snapping at itself.

People don't look at each other when they walk by. Every hand is in a pocket, or on an unconcealed weapon. Bruce counts the swords and forces himself to stop as the numbers get higher and his patience begins to thin.

He should be inside, hiding at the inn. He shouldn't be out here waiting on Tony, but they had agreed to stick together, just inside the gates. If the city exploded into riots and violence while they were separated...

Bruce pulls his cloak closer around himself and hopes that the peace lasts until they're gone.

...he is expecting at least a riot before they're gone. Their luck thus far would demand nothing less.

At least tongues are loose enough to spread rumors, and he's had more than enough time to listen to the rumors and news circulating through the marketplaces and around the small shops Tony's checked out. At least he knows _why_ everyone is so tense.

"Hey, you," comes a voice from behind him, and he turns to see Tony. "Enough of the doom and gloom."

"Are you done inside?" Bruce asks, voice low, and he doesn't ask how Tony knew he was worrying about their prospects.

"Let's get back to the inn and I'll show you what I got," Tony says, and guides him away from the store. "No, no peeking." He shifts the bundle he's carrying from one arm to another.

Bruce suppresses irritation and a smile at the same time, keeping to Tony's side as they start the walk back to their chosen inn.

"Hear anything interesting?" Tony asks, voice pitched low.

"Breuckelen is having a civil war," Bruce says neutrally, because what's one more piece of bad news? "Travel across their borders is going to be difficult if we go that way."

"So we won't. Think you can stay calm on a boat?"

That is a markedly different question from 'do you get seasick.'

"You're asking me to get onto a confined space in the middle of the ocean." Tony expects a lot of him. He's putting a lot of trust in him. Bruce rubs his hands together, well aware that he couldn't knowingly get on a boat in his present state.

"I am," Tony says with a shrug. "You're doing fine here, and this is much more dangerous."

Bruce stops, considering that, and Tony waits for him. It is true, in a terrible sense - fleeing civilians here would have a choice of choking the gates or jumping into the harbor, and the panic would be sure to - he cuts off the thought before it goes too far, not liking it.

He can't let himself lose control here. He can't let himself lose control on a boat.

Tony's looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"I don't get sea sick," he says. "But it's been a long time."

"You'll be fine," Tony says, and they resume their walk to the inn. "Wherever we wind up has to be better than this joint."

"Please stop tempting fate."

Tony's grin is infectious, enough so that Bruce has to stop himself from answering it.

\--

When Tony unfurls his bundle onto the straw mattress of their bed, Bruce feels the cold curl of dread in his gut. Zinc, copper, salt. Their last experiments, before Ross had commandeered all of his time and attention for that godforsaken clutch for a “true” _aqua fortis,_ had involved the miniaturization of galvanic cells. He can only assume this is Tony’s proposed new power source, the provider of the electricity that will keep his heart beating.

Bruce shakes his head, backing away.

“Don’t be like that,” Tony says, separating the goods out into piles.

“It’s too strong,” Bruce points out, making an effort to remain calm. “The shock will kill you.”

Tony picks a small vial out of the supplies and shakes it, quicksilver sloshing around inside. “You don’t give me enough credit.”

He doesn’t, it turns out. While he prepares the cells, Tony is busy reshaping bottles over their room’s fireplace. What he ends up with is a circular tube of reinforced glass cradled within a spider’s web of metal, the workings strong enough to be useful but beautiful enough that they could only come from Tony’s hand. Finally, Tony fits Bruce’s cells into it, and the whole thing hums to mechanical life.

It glows.

Unlike the last device, which only ticked faintly from the confines of Tony’s chest, this one emits a pale blue light that is going to be too bright to hide successfully under just one layer of clothing. It looks strange, nearly magical. He has misgivings, but before he can voice them, Tony pulls the old clockwork device from his chest and Bruce nearly leaps forward in his surprise.

"Hold it hold it - " Tony says frantically and Bruce stills, keeping the humming device just inches from the hole in Tony's chest. "Pull it up a little, give me room to work - "

Bruce does, watching as Tony reaches back into his chest and adjusts something, his face drawn and pale. Finally, Tony pulls his hand free and gives the signal he lowers the device down, carefully setting it into place. The light dims and flickers for a moment before stabilizing, and Bruce lets out a half-shaky breath.

"Is it working?" he asks, and Tony nods, expression still pinched as he checks it over. "What's wrong?"

"I think I can taste it," Tony mutters, and he finally lets his hands drop away. "...Hell, I _can_ taste it. Metal and - something sweet - "

"You're going to live," Bruce says, and it's a revelation for the both of them.

"I have a lantern in my chest," Tony says, but it's less about what he's saying and more about how _happy_ his tone is.

Bruce just laughs, a soft little sound that he's surprised he can still make.

Maybe they'll get out of this alive, he thinks, and it's the first time since the Capital that he's been able to think of the future and believe that he'll have one.

Still, still: it doesn't escape him that they're back where they started. Tony mostly intact and him not at all, on the run.

There must be something on his face because Tony takes his wrist in hand and looks at him.

"There's a way to cure you," Tony says, soft.

"How?"

"I don't know yet," Tony says, and it's too obvious. Bruce shouldn't have asked.

"Don't talk about a cure until you have something to go on," he asks instead. "Please, Tony." He doesn't wait for an answer. "How soon until we can leave the city?"

Tony looks at him, silent for a long moment, long enough for Bruce to be sure that Tony knows it was an excuse to change the subject, then speaks: "Shouldn't be too long. I just need to find a boat that won't ask questions and won't charge too much for passage. Few days, a week at most."

He has at least another day in the city, Bruce thinks. He nods, and begins to clean up all of their tools. There are only a few days left before he'll leave this kingdom for a long, long time.

When he turns to look at Tony, he's carefully wrapping bandages over his chest to cover the device, face unreadable.

\--

They've survived so much so far, from an assassination attempt that came far too close to succeeding to the initial flight from the Capital - it's been one long string of bad luck, and always with the proverbial sword on a string hanging above them in the form of the Hulk. It seems unbelievable, Bruce decides in his last lucid moment, that of all the things to ruin them, it’s an idiot with a knife.

In the ensuing carnage, Tony is probably going to die, the mugger is _definitely_ going to die, and he will probably follow them all into death as soon as the Hulk wears off and someone with a sword takes advantage of how exhausted he always is after losing himself to the monster inside of him.

The mugger makes a threat before swiping the knife at Tony and everything running through Bruce's head is only making him angrier and this time nothing shocks him out of his rage before he lunges.

Bruce - the _Hulk_ \- roars and everything turns to chaos.

\--

"How bad," are Bruce's first words when he's anything approaching lucidness.

He can barely believe that it's Tony of all people at his side. He has no idea where he is. He is naked and he is more awake than he thought he'd be.

The lighting is bad, just enough to reveal a low ceiling and Tony - light or not he'd recognize Tony from that blue glow in his chest - and he must be on a bed, a bunk, something soft and distinctly unlike rubble.

He's warm.

"You came out of it and fell asleep immediately, so you're doing fine - "

"How _bad_ ," Bruce repeats, and there must not be a city there anymore because Tony takes his time answering.

"We're going to have to work for our food now, Bruce. Between the supplies and passage I'm scraping the bottom of my wallet for coins, and - "

"Stop stalling," Bruce says, too sharp. Tony recoils, and that's new. That's new. He doesn't like it.

"It was the Capital all over again," Tony says, and Bruce closes his eyes. "Only worse. I..."

"Are you hurt," Bruce asks, eyes closed.

"Yes," Tony says. "But it's not serious. Not...like before. I was able to find you after you - calmed down. We got lucky, Bruce. Obscenely lucky."

Bruce doesn't say anything. He can feel it, now that he's thinking of it: there's a slight motion to his bed, proof that they're over water.

He should be thrown overboard, he thinks, and he has to stop himself from following that thought too far down.

"I'm just glad you're alive," Tony says in an undertone. "Thought I'd lost you - "

Bruce reaches out, grabbing whatever part of Tony is closest, he manages his arm; he opens his eyes.

"I'm not," Bruce says. "How long until that happens again? How _long?!”_

"Calm down!" And Tony grips his arm, holding Bruce's forearm with his free hand, and Bruce can barely see his face in enough detail to see that he's scared.

"How badly are you hurt?" Bruce asks, taking deep breaths. "Tell me, Tony."

"I'll live," Tony says, and from the way his hand goes to his chest Bruce gets an image of what must have happened.

"Was that damaged?"

"Nothing I couldn't fix," Tony says, shaky. "...I'll live. It's working. My back's going to complain for a - he punched me in the chest and sent me flying into a building, Bruce. Is that what you wanted to know? The only reason I survived to find you was because I was knocked out in a safe place while the city panicked. I could have been trampled. I could have - "

"Stop," Bruce says, because Tony is winding himself up now, and he shouldn't. Bruce knows what he needs to know, now. "How did you find me?"

"Followed the destruction," Tony laughs, soft. "Thought I was dying then. Just wanted to see you again before I kicked it. You were asleep when I found you. He - The Hulk killed a lot of guards before finding a quiet place to rest. I was - lucky I spotted you before someone else did."

"Stop," Bruce says, closing his eyes again and letting go of Tony. "Does the crew know I'm - "

"Think we'd be here if they did?"

"Where are we headed?"

"Sacae," Tony says.

South, then. Away from known lands. They're in for weeks at sea, and then they - are they travelers or planning to stay anywhere? He doesn't know, can't know without Tony's input.

"Are we sight-seeing or planning to put down roots when we get there?"

"Bruce, stop." Tony touches his arm this time. "Just rest for now. I don't know. We've got a long time to make plans, and I don't want to start right now. Besides, we're safe."

Give or take sharks or the winds failing them or storms or the countless dangers of travel by boat. Bruce shakes his head and falls silent.

"One more thing," Tony says, and Bruce wonders what else can go wrong for them.

"What?"

"This nice cabin that we're in? I paid the Captain a lot for it."

Bruce frowns. "...And?"

"You're in the only bed. I can string up a hammock, maybe, but - "

Ah.

"We can share," Bruce says - after all, it's an inconvenience that would have come up sooner or later. Their funds weren't excessive, and they're only been lucky that inns so far have had room for them.

"Great, great. I'll be on the deck, then..." Tony rises and sees himself out, leaving the lantern there as the only lighting.

Its flame flickers, coating the room in a yellow-orange glow that feels wrong after the blue-white he's grown used to, and Bruce almost calls Tony back in. He almost follows him out. He closes his eyes instead and tries not to think of anything, afraid to let his mind wander.

\--

It's been hours since Bruce woke up, almost a full day since they've left behind Drake's Mouth, and Bruce is still afraid of his own skin when they share the bed for the first time.

Tony refuses to take off his shirt, just curls on his side away from Bruce and that's the most damning evidence of all. How bad are the wounds if he won't let Bruce see them?

He can't turn to look at him. He can't even face his own fears without risking everyone here. It's all he can do to stay calm and try to sleep, but whenever he tries to calm down an echo of a roar flits through his head, or he sees that mugger stabbing Tony, or he tastes vomit at the back of his throat and he can't sleep like this, not when his mind is winding itself up tighter and tighter until he'll have a nightmare and come out of it angry.

He's a wreck. He raises a hand to cover his face, steadying his breathing yet again.

"Getting angry at yourself is just going to give us another mess to clean up," Tony says from behind him, and Bruce feels a hand on his shoulder. Guilt, memories - these are imagined memories, ones that he's had to construct from circumstantial evidence and from what he's been told. He doesn't remember being the Hulk, he never does. He only remembers the rush of anger, of white-hot rage.

Sometimes he thinks he remembers more. The impact when the Hulk hits something. Cries for help. But these are flashes and he can't be sure he's making them up in the first place.

Tony means well. Tony's touching raw nerves.

"Go to sleep," he says without moving. Tony is so fragile and he never realizes it.

"I don't know if I can."

Bruce closes his eyes and uses the knowledge that Tony never slept for long even - even when he was intact - to calm himself.

"I don't know any lullabies," he says, but he shifts onto his back for Tony's sake. It's all for Tony's sake at this point. The Hulk has done too much harm and Tony weren't here he would put himself down for everyone's sake. If he were a better man he never would have harmed Tony, because he never would have run. He would have stayed and let the Regent execute him for his crimes.

"Don't," Tony says as he prods at Bruce's shoulder. Bruce can't help looking at him, as painful as it is: he can see the glow through the shirt. It leaks out and shades Tony's face in blue-white.

He thought he found the light calming, when compared to the lantern, but right now it's only a reminder that Tony's life is so close to ending. One mistake in the machinery, one lucky arrow, one knife -

"If you're not going to let me sleep you should go back on deck," Bruce says, forcing his gaze to the ceiling. He can feel Tony shifting closer, on his side, and when he can't help another peek Tony's got his head propped up on an arm.

"You need to rest," Tony says, and reaches to retuck the blankets over them.

"So do you."

Their eyes meet. Tony holds his gaze, then looks away.

"I can't sleep with the light," he admits.

Bruce's gaze is involuntarily drawn down to where he can see the glow even through the shirt, and he raises a hand, almost touching before remembering not to. Tony's gone still, and Bruce studies his face in the glow, hand bare inches away from touching Tony's most vulnerable spot.

It's almost funny. He has metal over his heart, almost like armor, but it’s naked fear Bruce sees on Tony's face.

"I'm sorry," Bruce whispers before he pulls his hand back.

"No, I - " Tony jerks, and grabs Bruce's wrist and before he can do anything Tony pulls his hand close until it's covering the machine, touching so he can feel metal through the shirt. Tony's eyes are closed, and he's tense as a wire.

Bruce doesn't do anything, letting Tony feel. He won't hurt him. He would never, not if he had any control over himself.

"You're good, Bruce," Tony whispers.

Bruce almost pushes him away. It would be so easy to.

"I could be," he says instead, thinking of the control he has to master, or of an ocean he could throw himself into.

"You _are,_ " Tony repeats.

Bruce almost asks him why, almost pushes him away, almost pulls away himself when Tony reaches up with a hand and pulls Bruce's head close, touches their foreheads together.

"Trust me," Tony says, and Bruce really wants to know where Tony gets all this faith in him. "Trust me, Bruce."

"A lot of people died - "

"Shhh." Tony shakes his head slightly. "Don't go there."

"Why do you trust me so much?"

"Do I need a reason to?"

They are so close. Bruce can feel warmth from the machine in Tony's chest leaking through the shirt.

"You abandoned your kingdom for me."

It's not entirely true, but it's enough. Tony's gaze flickers, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't pull away.

"You aren't traveling with anyone else," Bruce says, and waits for Tony to finally tell him the rest.

It's been long enough, after all. The shores of the Kingdom of Stark are behind them.

"I'm the heir," Tony says, voice just above a whisper. "Last of the line, crown prince, all that. Stane's been ruling in my stead in a nice casual agreement since I took the throne. He's why the coronation's been delayed year after year. Which has been great - I get all the time I want to work in the lab, he gets to listen to the chancellors until his ears fall off. That was the situation a month ago."

"What changed?" Bruce asks, quiet.

"One of the palace spies reported to me instead of the spymaster, like he should have. I wasn't discreet enough when I followed up on the information. Stane found out, and your lab experiment lined up in time to give me the perfect cover for getting out of there before he arranged the perfect coincidence for my death. This works all around - I'm officially dead, he gets the kingdom, and we get to go tour the world and visit exotic locales."

Bruce wants to tell him that he's heard enough, but: he is in this deep. There's no reason not to have the whole picture.

"I know what you're thinking. 'What'd that spy tell me?' That my parents didn't die in an accident; it was planned, courtesy of Stane. I was supposed to have been with them, but luck intervened..." Tony shrugs, eyes closing. "I never got a chance to confirm it, and it doesn't matter now: he's got what he wants."

He rolls to his back, giving Bruce space, and sighs. Bruce doesn't know what to say.

"You've got one more question, right? Right." Bruce doesn't have one more question, but he doesn't stop Tony. "Why aren't I planning to raise an army or a resistance movement or talk to any neighboring kingdoms or any of the obvious steps I should be taking if I wanted the throne back? Well, that's it. I don't want to rule. I don't want the throne and I never wanted it. Who wants to rule a kingdom when you can pave the road to the future in the lab? Stane's doing a fine job, anyways."

Bruce isn't sure he agrees. He remembers Stane, remembers hating him for approving the kind of experiments Ross wanted him to do, remembers how he was nicely maneuvered into working for the kingdom anyway.

But there's Tony, looking as if the issue has already chewed him up and spit him out. There's a hole in his chest that was put there directly by Stane's machinations. There's Tony, who's giving up on the entire thing even though it killed his family and almost killed him.

What comes up in Bruce's mind are the two cities he left in ruins because he had a temper tantrum.

He cannot in good conscience tell Tony to go back and set things to rights. He has no right to say anything about the issue at all.

"Stane won't out and out kill anyone else," Tony murmurs, and Bruce almost misses hearing it. "Especially if he can use them as hostages if I ever come back. If no one's too stupid...they'll be okay."

"Tony," Bruce starts, deciding that he didn't hear that, and watches Tony tense. "I can give you a blindfold for the light, but until we get the right supplies I can't brew you a sleeping draught."

Tony looks at him, expression at once grateful and amused. "What, you can't wave your hands and work a little magic?"

"I'm an alchemist, not a wizard," Bruce says. "Do you want a blindfold?"

"...No, no thanks. Thanks for offering."

Bruce nods, and draws the blankets back up over them. His question is still unanswered: why _does_ Tony trust him so thoroughly? - but for now it's enough to understand what's been haunting Tony since they left.

It's enough to distract him into sleep.

\--

There is nothing to do. No riding, no constant vigilance against unwanted company on or off the roads, nothing.

He finds himself either at the railing to watch the sea or in their cabin, left to sit and sleep or stew in his own thoughts.

It does not help that Bruce cannot bring himself to speak to the sailors or other passengers - there are a few, a very few. He supposes that they have paid almost as much as Tony has to have passage out of Drake's Mouth, but he does not ask.

It takes a day before someone approaches him at the rail and attempts to speak to him.

"Hey," says someone at his side, and Bruce hopes his sudden case of nerves isn't showing too badly when he looks at him. It is a man with short-cropped brown hair and a friendly smile, but all Bruce can offer him is a weak smile.

"Hello," Bruce says, tone polite, and he looks back out at the ocean. That was a mistake, he thinks. He should have ignored him and simply accepted that he would come off as rude.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"It's cloudy," Bruce says. "I'm worried about a storm."

"Clouds don't have to mean a storm is coming."

"I'm sorry," Bruce says. "I'm not very good company right now."

"Bad day?"

Bruce can't help but look at him, frowning. "I can't stop thinking about Drake's Mouth," he says, and the man immediately sobers.

"Ah. Did you lose someone?"

Bruce has to stop a flinch before it shows, and shakes his head. He looks down, then back out at the ocean, and maybe, if he's lucky, the man will leave him alone.

What is he thinking - of course he won't get lucky. He has to hold back a sigh as the man speaks again.

"I'd heard the rumors, of course, but who would've thought the rumors weren't exaggerating? No one would've believed that there was a big green giant out for blood unless they saw it, and boy did we see it. Hey, where were you when it started?"

"In an alleyway. Being mugged."

"Fun times. Did you keep your purse?"

_Where,_ Bruce thinks, _is Tony?_

"I didn't," he says, and that's a partial lie. The money that had been on him hadn't been substantial, but most of the money had been with Tony or hidden among their luggage. He continues with the lie, eyes on the sea. "Once people started panicking he split and there wasn't a way to set a guard on him."

Of course there hadn't been a way to set a guard on their mugger. He was dead before he had a chance to steal anything, after all.

"Sorry," says the man. "I was down by the docks, just taking a stroll - that's how I survived, I got lucky enough to talk the captain into letting me on board, and I don't mind the travel."

"...Aren't you leaving behind something?"

"What, me? No - I was leaving anyways, this just moves me along faster than expected. What about you?"

"I..." Bruce looks at the man. He's sharp and curious, and Bruce doesn't know if he can trust him. "I'm traveling with my friend."

"Perennial travelers too?"

"Not..." Bruce frowns, thinking. "Maybe we are. I don't know if we'll stop anywhere soon." He has no talent for this. Where is Tony? "Excuse me - "

The man offers a hand. "Fred."

"What?"

"That's my name. Fred."

Bruce blinks, then takes the hand gingerly. The man has a firm grip and dry palms. "Bruce."

"Pleasure to meet you, Bruce."

Bruce ducks his head and pulls his hand back. "Yes..." What does this man _want_ from him?

"Look," says Fred. "I make it a rule to find out who I'm traveling with. Safer for everyone that way, in my opinion. I would have said hi earlier, but you were hiding below decks."

Bruce inclines his head. He wonders if Tony likes this guy, or if they hate each other already.

"You remind me of someone," he tells Fred.

"Yeah? How so?"

There is Tony approaching with an almost apologetic look, and Bruce is glad to step around the question as Tony leans on the railing next to him after shooting Fred a look.

"Now, Bruce, I'd apologize for being late, but frankly I don't mind missing out on a few minutes of ocean-watching. See any whales?"

"We're not far out enough for that," Bruce says patiently, and gives Fred a polite nod.

"You," says Fred to Tony, and Bruce would sigh.

"Yup, me."

" _How_ much gold are you carrying around that you can burn it on buying the Captain's _cabin?"_

"Jealousy rears its ugly head," Tony says to Bruce, not bothering to respond, and this is a problem. Perhaps Tony can't see it - probably can't, given his former social status - so Bruce will have to (should have been there to manage it from the start) ease the problem.

"He was looking out for me," Bruce says. "And that was a one-time deal only."

"So you're the sick guy."

It's almost amusing how quickly Fred's demeanor has changed now that he knows who Bruce is traveling with. Bruce can only wonder at how badly Tony hit it off with the man.

"I am the sick guy," Bruce confirms. "It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, excuse me, why didn't you realize that? You've been poking your nose into everybody's business, I think you would've looked at the odd guy out and said 'well hello you must be the sick guy'," Tony puts in, and Bruce fondly remembers a time when they weren't trapped in an enclosed space with other people.

"Tony, please be quiet," Bruce says, putting a hand on his arm. "I don't want an argument to start."

"Ah," says Tony. "I'm not apologizing."

It's very easy to see a fight forming here. Fred looks spitting mad, Tony clearly doesn't care, and Bruce has only one good option here.

"Excuse us," Bruce says to Fred, and he guides Tony away from the railing, back towards their cabin.

\--

"What were you _thinking_?" Bruce asks, not afraid to push Tony up against the wall. "Tony, we want to _blend in!"_

Tony raises his hands up in a sign of surrender. "I can't help it if the guy hates me, Bruce."

"You can keep your distance. You can avoid provoking him."

"I _can_ , yeah, but - "

"Tony."

"Don't get angry."

"I'm - " Bruce steps back, abruptly, nodding. "I'm not." He's breathing. He's got himself under control.

"Glad to hear it," Tony says, slowly lowering his hands. Maybe he doesn't get it. Bruce wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't.

They might have to agree to stay in the cabin most of the time, if only to keep Tony from getting into trouble.

"I'm not kidding about him hating me, by the way," Tony says. "Whoever he is - he really hates the idea of someone having some money on them."

"His name is Fred," Bruce says, letting out a long breath. "He's a traveler - I think. He didn't seem to mind being driven from the city."

"Bruce - see if you can talk to him without getting needled, then get back to me."

"I will. Are the rest of the passengers going to hate me for traveling with you?"

The way Tony flinches - Bruce would sigh.

"Do we have a problem?"

"...We might."

"We have to stay in here." He will miss the sea.

"If we do _that_ , we'll go stir-crazy. Both of us."

Bruce shakes his head at him and returns to the bed, having a seat. "If either of us were sailors I would have preferred to sail ourselves across the sea - and while I'm dreaming..."

"I know, Bruce," Tony joins him, sitting with a sigh.

Bruce lets them sit in silence for a short time before he asks, gently, "Why aren't you trying to charm anyone on the boat, Tony?" They both know he can do it - turn on the smile, be polite. He's done it before, in inns and in market stalls and in court.

"Maybe I don't want to," Tony murmurs, and Bruce shakes his head.

"What is it, really?"

"That's just it, Bruce," Tony says, and he looks at him. "Maybe I don't want to talk to anyone about the Hulk, or the civil war next country over, or about the regent."

"We're not far enough to get away from that yet, Tony."

"I know."

But there's the problem, Bruce thinks. Tony will never be far from those subjects, not when he is who he is or when he's traveling with the Hulk.

Well, he thinks. One exception. The civil war. They don't have any reason to care about Breuckelen whatsoever.

He's grateful for that, at least.

"What's that smile for?"

"We can forget about Breuckelen, Tony. Nothing to do with us."

Tony stares at him for a long moment, then cracks a smile.

"Let's keep that way, alright?"

"Of course, Tony."

\--

"Bruce, I'm beginning to think that we might just survive this."

Bruce keeps his hands on the rails and glances over at Tony, eyebrows up. It's been weeks since they've left port, with still weeks to go. "Why the sudden optimism?"

"If our friendly sailors were going to turn out to be pirates or otherwise untrustworthy we would've found out by now."

"You're asking for an oddly specific kind of trouble."

"It's what I do," Tony says airily, and Bruce can't argue that. At least they've been left to their own devices once the other passengers stopped trying to talk to them - between Tony's generally rude behavior and Bruce's silence they've been effectively left alone.

It'd be lonely, if not for the simple fact that they have each other, and Tony's happy to talk about everything and nothing now that he's able to stop looking over his shoulder for pursuit.

It's taken weeks, but their confinement to the ship has finally begun to get comfortable, and Bruce appreciates it.

\--

There are always days when Tony does not talk at all. There are always days when Bruce can't bring himself to leave the bed.

There are days when Fred or another passenger or even one of the crew tries to say hello.

There finally comes a day when Bruce can respond.

\--

"Hi again," says Fred when Tony is still in the cabin, and this time Bruce is glad that Tony is not here.

"Hello," he says, polite.

"Sorry about that first impression," Fred says, and Bruce is willing to let it go. Bruce is more than willing to let go of most things these days, as otherwise the ship would be splinters by now. Tony provides an endless stream of irritants, between his habit of pushing Bruce off the bed, his general manner, and the incessant nightmares they both have.

"It's fine," he says. It's been a long time since he spoke with this man last. "Your name is still Fred, right?"

"Right," says Fred with a relieved smile - Bruce wonders if he's thinking he should've tried talking to Bruce again sooner. It's a good thing he hasn't, in Bruce's opinion. "I'm still hoping we can get along."

"I don't mind," says Bruce. "Are you going to call me the sick guy?"

"What - oh, no. No. Sorry."

"It's fine," Bruce repeats. "I'm not sick anymore," he adds.

"I'd be worried if you were."

Bruce shrugs, looking out at sea again. There aren't clouds today, but he's not sure he trusts the ocean either way. There will be a storm eventually.

"I had a question."

Bruce is sure he does. He nods, making a noncommittal noise.

"Why are you traveling with that guy? The money?"

"We're friends," Bruce says after a short pause, and he's a little surprised that he means his response. He lets himself smile. He shouldn't be surprised. "He saved my life a few times."

"What - really?"

"He's not half-bad swinging a sword," Bruce says. "He's a better smithy than he is a soldier, though."

"What are you, then?"

Bruce considers. "Alchemist."

"...Lead into gold?"

"Not quite that exotic, but that is part of what I strive for," Bruce says. "Do you want the whole spiel?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You're going to regret that," Bruce says, and he can't help it - it's actually fun to think about his occupation, if he keeps his thoughts pointed away from the disasters. "Most of it involves working in my atelier at odd hours."

"Okay..." Fred, to his credit, actually looks a little interested, as if he wants to learn about the philosophy and the details.

"I'm an alchemist," Bruce repeats, and finally goes into the spiel. "I seek a better understanding the world and its fundamentals in order to then turn and bring the world closer to perfection. That means starting with how everything breaks down and how it all works together. Different alchemists use different methods, but I've been trying to gain a better understanding of the human body - recently I was working on a mixture that would heighten reaction times. It, ah - didn't work, but that's the nature of experimental mixtures. I'm just lucky no one died."

He conveniently leaves out the mixture that created the Hulk.

"I'm surprised you're still interested," Bruce tells Fred instead. "Most people's eyes glaze over by now."

"It's not my area, but I haven't heard something new in days. Keep going - "

They both stop upon spotting Tony sidling up to Bruce's other side.

"Yeah, Bruce. Keep going, please?"

Bruce looks between them, then nods. "I'm not sure where you want me to go next - "

"Immortality, obviously," Tony says, and Bruce sighs.

"It's impossible," Bruce says frankly. "I've tried."

"...And you gave up? No wonder it's impossible - "

"Tony - " Bruce raises a hand, stopping him. "Let me explain. To both of you. We all want an elixir of immortality, right? But: what kind of immortality? Leaving aside how impossible it is to make these examples - say you make a potion that lets you live forever. Does your aging stop? Can you die? What if you don't stop aging, and live forever as an older and older man?"

"So why not make a potion of youth?" Fred asks.

"In what sense? Aging backwards? Or a magic potion that takes a decade off - what if that potion takes away your memories of the last decade as well?" Bruce nods solemnly at the grimace. "No one wants that. I'd be afraid to test something like that, and have to relearn everything I've discovered recently. Now - Tony, you're right. I gave up. I decided to specialize in something safer."

"And what's that?" Fred asks.

Bruce considers the best way to say it. To describe his life's work...the path that led directly to the creation of the Hulk. "Creating a process that will bring any man to the ideal physical state."

"...Sounds as ambitious as immortality."

"Yes, but it's potentially doable, because I can focus on smaller, attainable goals." Bruce turns a little, struck by homesickness. His atelier. His life's work...gone. "...I was working on discovering what exactly makes us feel pain." It's true and not. He will not go down that path, and he will not tell this stranger the complete set of details.

"Before you went traveling."

"It's...not a pleasant story," Bruce says. "I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about that."

There's silence for a moment, punctuated only by the noises of the ship and the roll of the ocean.

"...Speaking of impossibilities," Bruce clears his throat. "I have dipped my hand into trying to turn substances into other substances. _Not_ gold - but I did try to create silver."

"You haven't told me about this - " Tony starts.

"Ended in explosive failure," Bruce says quietly. "I lost that athanor and a lot of expensive quicksilver. Not to mention that I smelled like sulfur for weeks afterwards."

"You should have told me about that!"

Bruce just shakes his head, thinking back to the days before he worked for the palace, when he was yet a novice in the sciences.

"It was a long time ago," Bruce murmurs.

"...But did you ever make silver?" Fred asks.

"Actually?" Bruce asks, and lets a smile come and linger. "Yes. It was - "

"No, no, stop there. You said yes. You _made silver_."

"...Fine. Yes." Bruce shakes his head. "If you want to celebrate that, go ahead."

"I knew you had the makings of greatness in you, Bruce," Tony grins, and Bruce can't bring himself to say that it wasn't very much.

"Gold wouldn't be impossible, if you could make silver," Fred reminds them, and Bruce shakes his head.

"Actually attempting to make gold would defeat the purpose of the profession, in my opinion. If you meet one who does honestly try it, they're either new - or greedy."

"Here we go again," Tony waves a hand. "Bruce, just skip ahead."

"He hasn't heard this before - and where would I skip to?"

"Something else I haven't heard before."

"Later, Tony. The philosophy is more important than the gold."

"You should stop him. He could talk about this for days," Tony tells Fred straight out.

"No, Tony, I couldn't," Bruce says, leaning against the railing again. "I can tell when my audience has had enough. Speaking of - Fred?"

"You're very open about this," Fred says. "Of course I want to hear more."

"I don't see a reason to keep many secrets about the basics," Bruce says. "Or about the philosophy. We can all agree that the idea of improving ourselves is a good one, right?"

"Yeah, but we can argue forever about method," Tony says, and Fred nods, absently.

"You're both intellectuals."

"...I'd say so," Bruce murmurs, and perhaps he has been too wrapped up in his spiel to notice, but: now warning bells are setting off in his mind. Now he lets cynicism set in and appraises Fred, wondering _why_ this man wants to know so much about alchemy - or about Bruce. "What about you?"

"I am but a humble trader," Fred says, with a mock bow. "I have cargo in the hold, and my only philosophy involves making money. You can see why I'd be interested in making gold."

Bruce wonders if that's the whole truth. "I can."

"Did I just throw cold water on the topic?"

"No, it's - " Bruce shakes his head, quickly. "I realized that I've probably talked your ear off."

He got carried away, and Tony didn't stop him. He'll need to speak with him.

"No, no. I've still got both my ears, and I wanted to hear all of that. Don't apologize."

"Let him apologize, it makes him feel better," Tony says. "Is it just me or are those clouds?"

Bruce blinks, and looks. "I - " he squints. " - don't think so."

"Hmm."

He looks at Tony again, frowning. A subtle warning, an excuse to return to their cabin, or genuine clouds? He can't be sure.

"Fred, do you mind if I put off the rest of this for later?" he asks.

"Not at all," Fred says. "Thanks for the company."

Bruce nods, offering what he hopes is a real smile, and heads for their cabin.

\--

"Bruce, he's going to remember us down to our buttons now. What were you _thinking_?"

"Why didn't you stop me?"

"You were too far in by the time I got there, that's why! Bruce, what were you _thinking -_ "

"I wasn't," Bruce says, quieter. "I got carried away. I...It's been quiet. I've gotten comfortable."

That's enough excuses, he thinks. They stare at each other for a long moment, and Bruce lets his eyes drop down to the subtle glow coming through Tony's layers.

"We're both memorable," he says. "If we can't change that - and we really can't - we should put our efforts into staying on the move."

"Agreed. Honestly? I think we're safe here for the time being - but we're getting closer to port, and I don't want us to waltz into the inn and claim an inn for the alchemist and his friend, the pri - "

Bruce jabs him in the shoulder, hard. It makes Tony shut up, and Bruce looks towards the door, and back.

"Speaking of being safe," he says, and Tony breathes a sigh.

"Point taken."

"...I'm not going to hold back if Fred asks about the philosophy," Bruce murmurs. "It'd be even more suspicious if I suddenly clammed up now."

"We're not good at this."

Bruce laughs, completely unintentional. He covers his mouth, then shakes his head. "...Yeah, you're right." He leans in, whispers: "You left your spymaster at home."

"Don't blame me for that!"

"I'm not," Bruce says, and he's been on sea for too long, far too long. He's feeling lighter, as if a weight is gone, and Drake's Mouth was less than two months ago, how can he be so...so light, now?

Tony claps him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture. "You look better," he says. "For the record."

"What?"

"You looked like you were having fun out there," Tony clarifies. "...I didn't think I'd get to see that again."

"I..." Bruce is speechless. "Tony..."

"Right," Tony says, softer. "Be serious. Remind you to keep your cool, to become calmer than a monk. Doesn't change that I missed it, and if you want to tell me more about this silver story, I want to hear it."

Bruce closes his mouth, unsure of what to say.

"Food for thought, Bruce."

\--

There are clouds when Bruce talks to Fred for the third time. He's self-conscious this time, too aware that he did get carried away earlier - in terms of enthusiasm and of discretion.

"Loosen up," is Fred's unasked for advice.

Bruce wonders if he talks to the man because he reminds him of Tony in some ways.

He looks at himself, then backs at Fred. "I'm not actually tense."

"What, really?"

Bruce nods. "...If I were, you wouldn't miss it. Guaranteed."

The realization that he's speaking to someone who is similar to Tony is a slow-acting revelation. By the time the conversation returns to alchemy, he's calm. He can handle Tony.

"You were going to tell me about the philosophy of being an alchemist," Fred says, and Bruce looks up, leaning back against the railing.

"Why are you a trader?"

For long minutes all he can hear are the sailors and the ocean, then Fred speaks.

"Greed, and I like to travel. I'm a simple guy."

Bruce can't be sure if that's the truth, or the whole story, but it's enough. "You could say I'm driven by greed, too," he says, mind on how he accepted the work at the palace. "But - it's really so I can do something worthwhile."

It's impossible to keep bitterness out of his voice. Even when it's been so long since he last lost control. Still - still, it feels like it happened only yesterday, and the weeks vanish in an instant.

He wonders when he'll next lose his temper.

"Did something happen?"

"Oh, sorry," Bruce says, and it's not entirely sincere. "I...need to go."

"You look like something's eating you."

"I don't want to talk about it," and it's rude, but Bruce leaves him for the cabin, taking advantage of the privacy they've bought.

\--

That night he can't sleep. That night he turns on his side and watches Tony sleep - watches the blue-white glow that shades them, and the steady rise and fall of his chest.

How comfortable is he? Comfortable enough to raise a hand to brush at Tony's hair.

He should stop traveling with Tony, he thinks, and he closes his eyes. It's a thought that has been circling since Drake's Mouth.

When has he lost control? When Tony has been threatened.

It's a small sample size. He doesn't want to enlarge it.

He can't stop traveling with Tony - he chases the other thought around. He should stop, but he can't. He wants to protect Tony, but whenever they're in danger he puts Tony in worse danger.

They're always going to be on the run.

His hand is still hovering over Tony's hair, knuckles just grazing it.

What is he doing?

He pulls his hand back, rolls to his back, covers his face with his arm.

"You could talk to me," Tony says, and Bruce starts, raising his arm to look at him. "Whatever's on your mind - it's eating you, right?"

"Where are we going, Tony?" He asks. "How long until we find a destination?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do, Bruce."

"When do we part ways?"

"I don't want to."

Bruce looks away again, and asks a more important question. "What makes you trust me?"

There's movement, the sheets being pulled away, and suddenly he's looking up into Tony's face, the light almost blinding without anything hiding it.

"I've got a lot of ways to answer that," Tony says. He's leaning over him, almost straddling him, hands on both sides of Bruce's face on the pillow. He's very close. "You're not going to believe the one I want to go with, so let's go with another true one."

Bruce ahs, comprehension dawning. He sees what's going to happen, he knows what Tony is going to do. "It's a bad idea."

"Save it," Tony says, and he kisses him.

Tony tastes like fish and hot air, and maybe Bruce has been waiting for this, maybe it's something he's been circling around this entire journey, and he kisses back, raises a hand to cup the back of Tony's head.

Tony lets the kiss end, but goes immediately for another one, and another one, and Bruce has wanted this for too long.

That's why he doesn't stop Tony. Why he chases up the kisses with fingers in Tony's hair, with soft, _wanting_ sounds.

Tony's looking at him as if he's the best thing he's ever seen in his life.

"Oh good, you're not angry."

Bruce closes his eyes. "I'm not angry."

"Then we should have done this months ago," Tony says, and Bruce can't disagree.

Tony leans in for another kiss then, and another, then one on his cheek, his chin, his neck, his collarbone - he makes an annoyed noise at Bruce's shirt.

"Modest," he mutters while Bruce works it off, and his trousers.

"You sleep in the nude," Bruce feels compelled to point out.

"And?"

Bruce shakes his head, finally returning to the bed, glad that Tony has the restraint to let him put his garments away.

Tony pins him to the bed the moment he can, and Bruce lies back and savors it as Tony explores his skin, kissing and licking as much as he wants, finding the places that make Bruce gasp, and which places make Bruce tighten his hands in Tony's hair.

It's the best thing he's felt in a long time. It's more than he could have hoped for. It's -

Tony's tongue touches his cock.

Bruce drops his head back, his hips jerking up, and this - this is when everything slows down. He can feel Tony trace the head of his cock with infuriating - arousing - lightness, he can feel himself hardening, he can feel his pulse speed up, he can feel himself beginning to get swept away in a wave of - of emotions, of things he can't name, and he has to reach out for Tony, grab at his hair, make him _stop_ -

Tony mouths down his cock, making a satisfied hum, and all Bruce can think is that he is on a thin edge and he can't - can't -

He can't think.

Tony rubs at his thigh, mouths more, finally looks up at him.

Pales.

"Bruce - "

Bruce _knows._ He can see his hand.

He can see the green tint to his skin.

Tony does the right thing and pulls off; gets his distance.

Tony does the wrong thing and comes back, touching his shoulder.

"What's happening in there?"

Bruce tries to breathe in long steadying breaths. He tunes Tony out, focused inward, on staying calm, on not ruining - not losing what he's gained, not killing everyone onboard.

"Bruce?"

"Quiet," he snaps, and that's a bad sign. He keeps breathing, willing himself to calm down, willing himself not to growl or force Tony or -

He pinches the bridge of his nose, forcing - forcing calm.

It's not going to work, he thinks as the seconds slow down.

He hears Tony say something.

He feels fingers in his hair. He wishes Tony would let go and run like he's supposed to.

The fingers thread through his hair, gentle, and he can still hear Tony talking to him.

He tries to focus on that, and it's Tony telling him he's got this, all kinds of reassurances, even an apology, things he shouldn't need to say because Bruce should be able to control himself.

"There you go," Tony says a long time later, and Bruce looks at his hands.

They're normal. He's not green anymore.

"...Phew," Tony says, and Bruce drops his head back. "Gonna get some sleep?"

Bruce doesn't answer, rolling to his side and pulling his legs up.

He feels movement on the bed, then Tony fits in next to him and pulls the blanket up over them.

"Don't blame yourself," Tony says, quiet. "We couldn't have guessed about that."

"You're angry," Bruce whispers.

"Well - yeah," Tony says. "Not at you."

Bruce doesn't say anything.

"You're a good guy," Tony says to the ceiling, and Bruce knows he'd talk if Bruce could hear or not. "You don't deserve this."

Maybe, maybe not - Bruce shifts a little. "Sleep, Tony."

"I'll...okay. Yeah. Listen, we'll find a way around that, okay?"

"Don't go there."

"I'll go there on my own, and if I get results I'll let you know," Tony says, and Bruce has to accept them. "Good night."

He doesn't dream that night.

\--

There is, of course, a storm a week out from port.

The ship, to Bruce's lasting surprise, does not sink.

\--

The morning before they dock: Bruce gathers his courage in his hands and kisses Tony as he wakes up.

Tony hums into it and smiles at him when Bruce pulls back.

"See? We're going to make it," he says, and Bruce just shakes his head. "Good morning to you too."

He doesn't let Bruce get out of bed without another kiss, but he doesn't push it, and that's what Bruce needed to see.

"...Maybe you're right," he allows.

"Of course I am. I'm always right, Bruce. Prince's prerogative." He stretches, makes to get up. "And I say that we're going to have a good trip from now on. No muggers."

Bruce doesn't contradict him. He's willing - for just a minute, just for now - to believe him.

\--

They watch from the railing as the ship docks, listening to the sailors holler at each other and listening to the sounds from the city - it's a bustling port, similar to Drake's Mouth but not. Different colors, a different style of architecture, and how odd it is that Bruce feels like he's in another country simply due to the color of the bricks used to build houses.

Fred joins them by the railing, and tips an imaginary hat at them.

"I don't suppose we'll see each other again soon, so I'll say it now. It's been nice traveling with you two, give or take one of you."

"Safe travels," Tony says, and Bruce echoes the sentiment.

"Thanks. Same to you two," Fred says. He tips the hat again, then hurries off.

Bruce watches him go, then looks at Tony.

"Discretion," Tony says, and Bruce nods. They're on the same page. They're not going to follow Fred, or get involved with his type.

They resume watching the port and looking at the other ships, and for a few minutes Bruce just enjoys the breeze - but then Tony elbows him, and points out at another docked ship, one that's obviously armed.

Bruce gives him a confused look, and Tony points up to its flags, and Bruce 'oh's to himself.

It's flying flags from the Kingdom of Stark. They have no way of knowing if it arrived before or after Stane started hunting them, or why it's here, but Bruce can only assume the worst, and from Tony's dour look, he's thinking the same.

They aren't out of the reach of Stane yet.

\--

They talk freely again in a private room, bought as cheaply as possible. Bruce bends his head close to Tony's even so, eyes on the window, on the door, as they are both thinking of the docks: of a man Tony recognized.

"James Rhodes," Tony tells him, voice low. "There's no reason for him to be here. Last I knew he was finishing a campaign on the borders of Breuckelen."

Bruce has been thinking about this: the speed they set when they ran from the Capital was fast, but not as fast as it could have been, between Tony's injuries and Bruce's. Then the days in Drake's Mouth, and the fact that while the ship they chose for the voyage here was reasonably fast, it wasn't a craft built for speed - and it wasn't rushing the trip.

"Assuming it arrived today or yesterday," Bruce says. "I can see a messenger reaching the border and getting him to go straight south if Stane sent the messenger as soon as possible after I..." He doesn't finish the sentence.

"It's tight, but I can see it," Tony murmurs. "This gives us a wrench, though. Rhodey's a good guy, but he's loyal to the kingdom."

Bruce nods, thinking - it's the first time he's seriously had to worry about this since their enforced vacation from the problem on the sea, but it's not hard to pick up where he left off.

Tony's unwilling to go back and take back the crown. Bruce can't blame him.

This Rhodes - whatever he is to Tony, whoever he is loyal to, he'll likely force Tony to confront and confirm his choice in abandoning the kingdom.

"What are you thinking?"

"If not for my situation," Bruce says, admitting it, "I would tell you to talk to him."

"But you're selfish, so you're going to tell me to run?" Tony asks, as if looking for an escape route.

"Yes," Bruce says. "How well does he know you, and how far do you think he'll go to find you?"

"Okay," Tony says, running a hand through his hair. "Okay. Problems! One: Rhodey knows me, and even if he didn't, he's smart. He's probably got plenty of gold and he'll get men to search the city and watch its exits. Two: If he questions anyone on the boat we rode in on, we're not exactly going to fade in with the passengers. Three: We were probably followed here, just because we came from that ship. Depends on how long he's been here, and if he's hired anyone to do that."

"And all he has to do is pull Fred aside and ask him anything," Bruce murmurs.

"Damn it. Going on. Four: we are running out of coins, with no good way to get more short of theft at this point. We have enough for cheap boarding and food for two days, but after that..." Tony shakes his head. "So now's the time to buy cheap horses and run, if we're going to."

"...And where would we run to?" Bruce asks, getting a sigh from Tony.

"Exactly. We know where the next obvious cities are, and what the major routes are, but so does Rhodey. He'll have eyes on the gates, anyways. Look, okay, Bruce. Frankly I'm tempted to yell the Hulk into happening and steal valuables he leaves in his path, then grab you and get running again."

"It worked for the last two major cities," Bruce says dryly. "No."

"Damn." Tony says, then he drops his tone again, serious. "We don't have very many options here. None of them are good ones, as far as I can see."

"Talk it out," Bruce says, and Tony continues.

"Option one: we beeline for a gate right now and get out of the city and just go. Pros: we're out of here! Cons: no chance to exchange our money or pick up supplies; we might get spotted at the gate; we're giving up the cover of all these people for roads that are nowhere near as crowded."

"I would call that last one a pro," Bruce says.

"...Oh, right. Yeah. Okay, shift that up. Anyway! Option two..."

Bruce listens to Tony list out all of the possible options to them, lets him talk them out, and he has to give Tony credit: he's got a lot of ways to squirm around what Bruce thinks is the best idea for Tony, if not him: going to Rhodey and laying it all out.

The problem is: the longer Tony talks, the harder it is for Bruce to see a way out that doesn't leave with them getting spotted or making a mess. It doesn't matter that they have a -

There's a knock on the door. They shoot each other panicked looks before Bruce goes to get it. How ironic it is that they are in more danger out of their home country than within, he thinks.

He isn't surprised in the slightest when the door opens to reveal the very man Tony is so afraid of.

"We were followed," he says to Tony, seeing no point in attempting to bar the door or trying to lie their way out of this.

It's the end of the line as Ser Rhodes walks into the room. Bruce can see a pair of armed men in the hallway, men who stay behind as Rhodes closes the door, eyes on Tony.

"Rhodey, Rhodey, long time no see. Any truth to that civil war rumor I heard about Breuckelen, or are their borders sewn up tighter than Stane's purse-strings?" Tony's tone is surprisingly flippant, and Bruce doesn't see fear in his eyes. He's either fearless or has something up his sleeve, or both.

"Tony," says Rhodes. He doesn't spare more than a glance for Bruce. "I don't want to drag you home."

"Good, because I don't want to go back."

Bruce realizes that Rhodes may not know that Tony's life is in danger.

"Your kingdom," Rhodes begins, but he and Bruce both know it won't work. Tony interrupts, as expected.

"Mine? I can't have it if I'm dead, remember?"

"You don't look dead to me."

"I'm close enough." Tony taps his chest, over the light. "Stane was so close to getting what he wanted. If his assassin's sword had been held just a little to the left I wouldn't be here now."

Ser Rhodes doesn't look away from Tony's face.

"I'd be walking into a death trap, with or without you. On top of that, I don't want the kingdom." Tony's tone turns defensive.

"He won't change his mind," Bruce puts in.

"I know," Rhodes says. "But I had to try."

"Well, trial's over. How was the trip? See any kraken?" Tony's tone shifts from defensive to flippant again, and he steps forward.

"No, Tony, no kraken." Rhodes shakes his head, and takes Tony's offered hand before grasping him in a hug.

Bruce opens his mouth, then closes it. He's missed something. Hasn't he? Unless: unless. They are greeting each other like old friends, and Tony's not afraid at all, all of that stress gone in an instant.

He can't bring himself to be angry at Tony - it's a good thing he can't. He can, however, be annoyed.

"You led me on!" he accuses.

Tony grins and slings an arm around Rhodes' shoulders. "Of course I did! Bruce, meet my number one knight Rhodey and his impressive purse. He's here to tell me what a bad idea this is, then throw Stane off our tracks and finance our vacation to the east."

"That was uncalled for. You are cruel, Tony Stark." Bruce says with more exasperation than not.

"I'm charming, admit it."

"Those two traits aren't mutually exclusive."

"Aw, Bruce."

Rhodey clears his throat, prompting Tony to flap a hand at him.

"Rhodey, this is Bruce. Bruce, say hi."

"Hello," Bruce says, still uncertain. After a moment he offers a hand, and Rhodes shakes it.

"Bruce Banner?" Rhodes asks, and there's that uneasy feeling again.

"...Yes."

"There are wanted posters out for you," Rhodey says, giving Tony a sidelong look.

"Nothing to worry about," Tony says, quick. "Extenuating circumstances."

"You weren't content with just Stane's assassins?"

"Bruce isn't dangerous."

"Tony - " Bruce starts, because he is.

"You aren't. You've got everything under control." Tony says, and the look he shoots Bruce's way makes him stop.

He swallows, nods. "Yes."

"Drake's Mouth," Rhodey says, and Tony throws his hands up.

"We were mugged - how fast _was_ your ship?"

"How does your getting mugged translate to the destruction of an _entire city_?"

"Yeah, well. If you've heard about that, you've heard about the Hulk, and he's everything the rumors say except better, because he knows not to do anything to me."

Another lie. Bruce says nothing. It's not his business what Tony tells his friends.

The expression on Rhodes' face reads as 'if you weren't royalty...' which is an expression Bruce has seen on more than a few people whose lives orbit Tony's.

" _Moving on_ ," Tony says. "We'll take the money and run. Safer all around, agreed?"

Rhodes nods, and from there it's all talk about the logistics of travel and what he's planning to report to Stane.

There is mention that they will need to work for money at some point. There is not a word said about the Hulk, to Bruce's relief - and minor irritation. It is still unnerving that Tony trusts him so much.

He controls himself.

They're leaving by the southern gate, and taking a roundabout route to the east. Rhodes will report them going south.

Everything has been arranged.

Bruce watches Tony talk to Rhodes, watches him make excited hand gestures and argue over a map - he's happy, he's glad to see this man. Bruce wonders at how dangerous the situation is for Tony, that he would leave this friendship behind.

He wonders if they'll ever come back, and as he watches Tony explain exchange rates to a patient Rhodes he thinks that yes, Tony must be planning a return someday.

\--

That's it, then. They say their farewells and Rhodes leaves. Tony runs through the plan with Bruce once more, how they'll get to the southern gate quickly and quietly, and just like that they're back on the road again.

Tony catches Bruce before they step out of the door, touches his shoulder and leans in, looking him in the eye.

"I need you to stay in control," he says, dead serious. "There isn't wiggle room if he shows up here."

Bruce nods, once.

Tony breaks out in a smile and gives him a kiss, quick and fond. "Knew you had it in you. C'mon, Bruce."

It's the trust that catches Bruce's breath in his throat, makes him feel warm and uncomfortable all at once, and for that he follows Tony out into the city, trusting him yet again to guide them to safety.

\--

It will be two years before they return their sights back to their home country, and longer still before Stark retakes the throne.


End file.
